Stronger
by trekker4life
Summary: But right now, Voldemort was gone, Harry was alive, and that was enough.  HHr, Harmony.


_**Disclaimer: **_**I do not own any part of the **_**Harry Potter**_** franchise, written by J.K. Rowling. Nor do I own the song **_**"Pale"**_** by Within Temptation, which inspired this fic.**

_**Time/place:**_** Begins just after Harry view's Snape's memories in the Penseive (Chapter 34 of **_**Deathly Hallows**_**); follows through the end of the Battle of Hogwarts, incorporating both book and movie events (minus the crapilogue...err, the epilogue.). **

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_The world seems not the same  
>Though I know nothing has changed<br>It's all my state of mind  
>I can't leave it all behind<br>I have to stand up to be stronger_

So. There it was. In vivid color, his ultimate fate was laid out for him. Snape's metaphor of a pig for slaughter, while a bit insulting, was true. And though he supposed this news should be devastating, somehow it wasn't. Nothing had changed, really. It was always going to be so, from the moment Lord Voldemort stepped foot into Godric's Hollow nearly seventeen years ago. Knowing that he _must_ die to rid the world of Voldemort only strengthened his convictions – he wasn't going to run, or beg, or plead; he was going to walk into the Forest with his back straight and head high.

As Harry left the office, leaving the Penseive where it lay, his thoughts turned to those gathered in the Great Hall. They reminded him that while his future hadn't changed, the future of the rest of the world had. So many people had died already – Remus, Tonks, Dobby, Sirius, Fred, Dumbledore, Hedwig, Mad-Eye Moody, and so many more – it was hard to imagine a world without them.

He realized his time was short – he had at most fifteen minutes left. Fifteen minutes left to live. Suddenly he knew that his earlier determination to leave without seeing anyone – a clean break, so to speak – was no longer enough. He had to see two people, if for nothing else than to let them know that it was nearly over.

As he trudged down the rubble-strewn remains of the once grand marble staircase leading into the Entrance Hall, he noticed two figures sitting side-by-side on of one of the lower landings. One was red-haired and a bit taller, even while sitting; the other, a brunette with her head on the red-head's shoulder. At his footsteps, they jumped up and turned to him.

"Harry!" she called, stepping toward him. "Where have you been?" He watched her as she moved. The last few hours had not been easy for any of them and the evidence showed in her appearance. Her hair was mussed, coming out of its tight ponytail; there were small rips and tears in her clothes, a few bright red scratches among the dull dirt on her hands and face. But for Harry, the most telling of all were the clear paths down her cheeks where tears had washed the dirt away.

He knew that he must go, that he had little time to waste. He said his reasons, heard her say the words he so desperately wanted to agree to, but shook his head. He looked at the other boy, the one who had been both best friend and, though unknown to either, rival. A single thought was portrayed in the second their eyes met – _take care of her_. As the red-head nodded and held back the girl they both loved, he turned and walked down the final flight of stairs and into the Entrance Hall.

The Hall was still covered in rubble and dust, but mercifully free of other fighters, or their bodies. As he reached the front doors, he saw Neville and Oliver carrying a body in from the grounds. As Oliver continued into the Great Hall with their burden, Harry was struck by a sudden thought. He asked Neville to ensure the death of the great snake; it eased his mind slightly to know that not only would the fight continue without him, but that it would be finished that same night. Clapping his hand on the other boy's shoulder, Harry looked one last time at the crowd gathered in the Great Hall and walked out of the castle, heading for the Forest, for Voldemort.

_**~HP~HG~**_

She watched him go, held back only by Ron's hand on her arm. She watched as he spoke briefly with Neville and walked out the large front doors. As he passed from her sight, something inside her broke, and she turned to the boy behind her, grabbing onto him fiercely as silent tears streamed down her cheeks again. Ron simply held her, fighting the emotions building in his own soul. Could that have really been the last time he would see his best friend? Hermione's voice broke through his thoughts, shaky and slightly muffled, as she still had her face buried in his shoulder.

"I...I didn't...I couldn't...I'm sorry..."

He knew what she meant; knew that the kiss they had shared wasn't for him, not really. He continued to hold her, waiting for her to move. A moment passed before, sniffling, she raised her head and pulled back, away from him. Their eyes met; she saw the understanding and acceptance in his gaze.

"Thank you, Ron...really, thank you." He shrugged.

"S'alright. You've always been his, he's always been yours; I can't compare with that kind of bond. It just took _this_ happening to make me realize it."

Fresh tears started again in her eyes at his words. He cleared his throat. "So now what?"

She smiled weakly and took a deep, steadying breath. "Now? We make ready to fight...again."

The pair walked down the last few steps and entered the Great Hall. Ron made his way over to his family, still huddled around the fallen brother. Hermione paused in the middle of the Hall, looking around at the devastation. Two of the long House tables had been pushed to opposite sides; the other two were end-to-end in the center of the Hall, and Madam Pompfrey was dashing around them with a team of helpers, tending to the injured.

She could see Lavender Brown lying by one end, her scratches covered with a nasty looking goop. Firenze lay on his side nearby. His wound had been mended, but the damage was done – his normally pale face and chest were made even paler now. Everywhere she turned, she saw the injured resting, the grieving comforting one another...the dead lying near the front, some seemingly asleep, others showing the wounds that had felled them.

Hermione saw Professor McGonagall walking toward the entryway to the Great Hall and moved to intercept her. "Professor!" The older woman stopped and turned to the younger, who could see that the past few hours had taken their toll on the headmistress as well. Her hair was half-way out of its normally severe bun, her robes were ripped in multiple places, and several cuts covered her exposed skin. "Hermione...thank goodness you're alright. And where's Harry?"

Hermione winced slightly at the older woman's question. "He...he's gone. Into the forest." McGonagall's face showed her grim comprehension. "Did he do what he came to the castle to do?" Hermione nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Yes. It's nearly over."

McGonagall sunk down on a nearby bench and Hermione sat down next to her, shaking slightly, watching the people – students, teachers, shopkeepers, families – milling about. She was still fighting the urge to dash out of the Hall, to find Harry, to stay by his side, as she had for seven years.

Unknown minutes had past when Voldemort's voice rang through the castle and grounds; those who could walk raced outside to see the truth.

_**~HP~HG~**__  
><em>

As Harry walked through the grounds and entered the Forest, as he summoned the echoes of his father, his mother, Sirius, and Remus, one thought kept him going – _It will be over tonight._ He clung to that thought even as he came across the Death Eaters and followed them. There had been so much pain and loss on all sides that he was relieved to know the battle...no, the _war _that had spanned several decades would be finished tonight.

Coming up to the former acromantula nest, he realized he was simply tired. Tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of fighting, tired of pain. It was almost a relief to know that if, for some forsaken reason, the battle tonight was to fall to the Death Eaters, he would not be here to see it. He pulled off the cloak, revealing himself to Voldemort.

He heard the cry, saw the flash of green, and all was dark.

_**~HP~HG~**_

He was sitting next to Albus Dumbledore on a bench in King's Cross station...or wherever he really was. As Dumbledore explained his reasons for the years of secrecy and outright lies, Harry's mind drifted slightly, thinking of those in the castle, those he left behind. He thought of Ron and his family, mourning Fred; he thought of Neville, Luna, Ginny, Seamus, and all the others that had fought long and hard for the past nine months. He thought of Hermione and her last words to him.

Oh, how he wanted to have said 'yes,' to have her with him now. But whether it was through common sense or his 'saving-people-thing,' he knew that she shouldn't be here. She needed to be safe; _he_ needed her to be safe – even if it wasn't with him. Hearing Dumbledore pause, Harry voiced his decision.

"I've got to go back, haven't I?" His former Headmaster smiled. As Harry began to fade from the station, he asked Dumbledore one last question and smiled at the answer he received.

"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on Earth should that mean that it is not real?"

_**~HP~HG~**_

He heard the cries and shouts of the gathered crowd of Hogwarts defenders. McGonagall's cry shook him, but the softer cry soon after truly tested his resolve to continue with his façade of death. The anguish and disbelief in Hermione's voice made him want nothing more than to jump up from his position on the ground and run to her, to assure her that he was indeed alive.

However, he continued his stillness, even as he heard Neville's defiance of Voldemort. When he opened his eyes a fraction and peered through his lashes, he saw Neville behead the snake and knew it was time to act. He took advantage of the ensuing chaos, slipping the cloak over himself again and following the crowd back into the castle.

_**~HP~HG~**_

Her world stopped at the sight of his body lying still on the ground. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't...the hero is always the victor at the end of the story, is always alive and triumphant over evil. She stood frozen next to Ron and Professor McGonagall; she saw Neville's actions as if through a thick veil.

It wasn't until she found herself beside Ginny and Luna that she became consciously aware of her surroundings again. She realized that she couldn't just curl up and shut the world away, not yet at least. She must fight on, continue the battle – they were so close. She couldn't – wouldn't – let his sacrifice be in vain and, with that thought, threw herself into the three-on-one fight against Bellatrix.

She saw the curse miss Ginny by a hair, saw Molly Weasley take over the fight and defeat Bellatrix. She knew Voldmort would not take that kindly and she wasn't disappointed. She felt a trill of fear as the Killing Curse flew at Molly and heard the achingly familiar voice cry out. Her heart flew as she saw him throw off the cloak and reveal himself to the watching crowd of fighters.

She heard him taunting Voldemort; saw the two circling each other like stalking lions. She did not look away from the bright flash of the colliding spells. As soon as the dust cleared and it was clear that Harry was indeed the victor, she dashed forward, stumbling a little over the rubble, with Ron on her heels. They slammed into Harry, hugging him and shouting along with the rest.

_**~HP~HG~**_

In the celebratory bedlam that followed, Hermione lost sight of Harry and found herself sitting beside Ron at one end of the restored House tables, surrounded by students and their families. Looking down the tables, she found him, just as Luna stood up and Harry disappeared from view yet again.

Knowing how overwhelmed he would be, she wasn't surprised to feel a tap on her shoulder a moment later. She and Ron immediately stood and followed him out into the Entrance Hall. Harry pulled off the cloak and began walking through the Hall toward the remains of the marble staircase. Before they reached it, however, the sound of footsteps behind them caught their attention.

Turning, they saw Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco trying to slip away without being noticed. "Draco!"

The blonde boy turned at Harry's call. Harry walked to Draco and held out the Hawthorne wand to him. Draco stared at the wand. "It's yours. Thank you."

Draco reached out and took the wand, giving Harry a curt nod in return. Harry turned back to the others and they continued up the stairs. Ron broke the silence first. "You're mental, you know that, Harry?"

_**~HP~HG~**_

As they climbed the stairs, Harry told them the complete story of the events of that night. When he reached the point of the echoes of his loved ones and showing himself to Voldemort, Hermione slipped her hand into his and squeezed. He shot her a fleeting grin and only let go of her hand when they reached the Headmaster's office.

Hermione felt a sudden resurgence of pride in Harry when he announced his plan to return the Elder Wand. She knew that most wizards and witches would have kept the 'won' wand, simply for the fact that it is so powerful. But not Harry. She smiled at him as he turned back to them and led the way out of the office.

_**~HP~HG~**_

As they left, Hermione was struck by a sudden thought. She told the boys to go on up to the Common Room and waited until they were out of earshot before speaking. "Kreacher," she called, somewhat tentatively. She wasn't entirely sure if he would come; Harry was the elf's owner, not her. But she needn't have worried, for a moment later, she heard a loud _CRACK_.

"Mistress called Kreacher?" said the old elf, his bullfrog voice unchanged. Hermione smiled at him. "Kreacher, I know you're likely very tired and probably busy with the rest of the House Elves, but I have a request to make of you."

The Elf bowed to Hermione. "What does Mistress ask of Kreacher?" "Well, I was wondering if you could make a tray and bring it up to Harry in the Gryffindor Common Room. He hasn't eaten properly in over twenty-four hours – he's bound to be starving. I would like him to have something to eat before he goes to bed."

"Kreacher will, Mistress." "Thank you, Kreacher." As the old Elf vanished with a _CRACK_, she continued on her way up to the Common Room.

_**~HP~HG~**_

Harry and Ron reached the Common Room and flopped into their customary armchairs, which had mercifully escaped damage. Harry sat, staring into the empty fireplace, until Ron spoke. "Harry, about Hermione– " Harry cut him off.

"Look...when I left, I didn't intend to come back; I didn't believe I could. So if you and her want to continue whatever you have started, go ahead. I'm not going to stand in your way."

Ron smirked, though it lacked most of its usual cheerfulness. "Harry. The two of us are just good friends." Harry looked at him, unblinking. "We're not. When you left, she realized – well, we both realized – that there is something that you and her have that I can't compete with. And after seeing how you leaving affected her today...I don't want to."

"What the hell are you talking about, Ron?" Harry shifted in his armchair to look at Ron better; Ron sighed. "Harry...look. Just talk to her; you'll see. Do me one favor, though, would you? Don't hurt her like that again; I will murder you if you do."

Harry smiled faintly. "Alright." The boys sat in silence for a minute or so until Hermione came clambering in through the Portrait Hole and came over to sit on the arm of Harry's chair. "Sorry about that; just had to take care of something."

Harry smiled at her, then looked over at Ron, whose face had lost some of its emotion from the moments before. "Ron," he said, catching the other boy's attention. "If you want to go down to your family, go. They need you more than I do right now." Ron smiled back gratefully and stood up to leave the Room. "Thanks, Harry." As the red-head reached the Portrait Hole, he turned back before climbing out. "And...I'm glad you're back, mate."

Harry smiled. "I'm glad, too." As Ron left the Room, Harry turned to Hermione, still perched on the arm of his chair. "So, why'd you make us go ahead?" "Well, I –"

_CRACK!_

The sound of Kreacher's appearance interrupted Hermione. He appeared before the two teens, a large tray held above his head. "Kreacher is here with the tray Mistress requested for Master." Harry turned to Hermione, who blushed faintly under his questioning gaze.

"Well, I knew you hadn't properly eaten in over twenty-four hours, and I knew you wouldn't want to eat in the Great Hall, so I called Kreacher and had him bring up a tray for you."

Harry smiled brilliantly at her, before leaning forward to take the tray from Kreacher. Looking at it, he noticed that there was a _lot_ of food. More than he could eat. When he pointed that out to Kreacher, the old elf replied simply. "Where Master is, Mistress is."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Kreacher." "Mistress is welcome. If Kreacher may be excused, he is needed back in the Kitchens." Harry nodded and with another loud _CRACK!_, he vanished from view. Harry gingerly stood and placed the tray on a nearby table. Pulling the table backwards, he took his seat again, sliding to one side on the oversized chair. Patting the small space beside him, Harry looked at Hermione. "Coming? No sense in all this food going to waste."

Hermione smiled and slid down beside him. It was a tight fit, but the proximity felt nice. It was a comforting reminder that Harry was alive, that this was real. A few moments passed in silence as they cleared the food from the tray. Harry took a final sip from his glass of pumpkin juice and leaned back, closing his eyes. Hermione look at him and smiled.

"Tired?" Harry simply nodded without opening his eyes.

"Then why don't you go get some sleep? I'm sure there's a bed or two upstairs that wasn't damaged and I'll make sure you aren't bothered for a while."

Harry cracked one eye open to look at her. "That requires moving, Hermione." She smiled and stood, reaching out a hand to help him from the chair. He took her proffered hand and, together, they walked up the stairs to the boy's dormitory. Reaching the door marked 'Seventh Years,' they entered to find it somehow undamaged. Harry let himself fall backward onto the nearest bed; Hermione grabbed a blanket from the next closest bed and threw it over him. Leaning down, she removed his glasses and laid them on the bedside table.

"Now, you get some sleep. I don't want to see you out of this bed for at least eight hours." Harry grinned slightly at the sound of her normal tone again. "Of course, Hermione." He hesitated before speaking again. "...you will be here, though, when I wake up, won't you?"

She knew that the last hours had taken their toll on him and he would want to be surrounded by familiar faces when he woke up. She leaned down again and pressed her lips to his forehead.

"Always."

Walking away, Hermione stopped at the door and looked back at the already asleep boy. Now was not the time to tell him of her thoughts and feelings. Right now, Voldemort was gone, Harry was alive, and that was enough.

_**~HP~HG~**_

**Well, that was my idea. Hope you like it.**

**Trekker**


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